Remedy
by iyaorisha
Summary: After Buffy rejects him (S5 "Crush"), Spike pays a visit to Angel. A bit angsty, but some smut.


Remedy

By iyaorisha

Title: "Remedy."

Timing: S5 after "Crush" 

Pairings: Angel/Spike. Also brief Wesley lustage for Angel.

Summary: After Buffy rejects him, Spike pays a visit to Angel. A bit angsty, but some smut.

Rating/Warnings: R for violence, language, and M/M sex.

Spoilers: None if you've seen up through S6. Minor references to FFL, "Crush". and my fanfic "A Night of Firsts."

Feedback: Brutal honesty is best (I enjoy floggings, I really do), but warm fuzzies are accepted as well. You can post a review here or email me at 

Cordelia glared at the shaking light fixture, then turned to Wes. "How long have they been at it today?"

The dark-haired Englishman swallowed and loosened his tie before answering. "I haven't the slightest idea. I only arrived here ten minutes before you. You'll have to ask Fred. If you can get her to come out of her room."

The receptionist rolled her eyes. Fred was a whiz at research, especially anything involving the computer, but she had a tendency to freak at some of the ickier aspects of Angel's vampiric nature. In particular, the volatile relationship with his youngest Childe. Cordy herself was not particularly thrilled at Spike's arrival in LA or the subsequent …um, activities the peroxide menace goaded his grandsire into. But at least, she wasn't locked in her room, playing "hear no evil, see no evil".

Well, not yet, she thought as a particularly loud growl reverberated throughout the hotel. Cordy made a mental note to order soundproofing for Angel's room.

"Oh, look it's already one." She announced casually hoping that Wes wouldn't notice she wasn't wearing a watch. "Past my lunchtime. I'm going out for Thai. Be back in an hour." Cordy smiled and headed for the door. She was halfway up the stairs when there was the sound of breaking furniture followed by a howl that seemed to express pleasure, rage, and pain all at once. Cordy shuddered. "And I just remembered I have a nail appointment at two-fifteen."

"No. Oh, no." Wesley protested. He dashed in front of her and grabbed her arm. "We have work to do."

She shook her salon-highlighted bangs out of her eyes. "Gunn won't be in for another hour. Besides," she glanced up at the ceiling. "I don't think the Boss is going to notice if I play hooky."

"Please, Cordy," Wesley knew his voice held an unmanly note of desperation, but at the moment he didn't care." Please don't leave me here alone with the two of them like that."

 "But you won't be alone, Wes. Fred's upstairs." Cordy smiled impishly and then bopped the former Watcher's knuckles with her handbag. He reflexively let go and she sailed out the door.

Wes stared after her in disbelief. Then he shook his head. It was classic Cordelia Chase. Steadfast in the midst of the fray, but she'd disappear the minute you asked her to do something unpleasant like file or type or listen to Angel and Spike make savage love.

Is the last all that unpleasant? the wicked little voice in his head asked. Or are you just jealous?

Wes hated that little voice in his head. The one that taunted him whenever he saw Angel panting and sweaty after a battle. It simply wasn't true that he harbored those sort of feelings for the vampire. Not that there was anything wrong with it. It was just simply absurd that he would lust after Angel when he was in love with Fred.

At the thought of the willowy brunette, Wes realized that he ought to go comfort her. Fred had been locked in her room for close to 24 hours now. Ever since Spike entered the Hyperion through the sewer entrance and demanded to see Angel.

Fred was predisposed to dislike Spike because of Cordy's tales from Sunnydale High and the blond vampire's association with Angelus. It hadn't helped that Spike picked a fight with Angel within minutes of his arrival at the hotel. Even as the platinum-haired menace tauntingly circled his sire, Wes could tell that the impending scuffle was just an excuse for physical contact.

The ploy had worked of course. One moment, the two vampires were rolling around of the floor growling and clawing at each other. The next, they were stockstill, Spike grinning out of a bloodied face as his grandsire straddled him. Then, his blue eyes closing in pleasure as Angel moved with infinite slowness to grind his pelvis against that of his wayward Childe.

Wes had been paralyzed by the sight. All his senses were focused on the electrifying scene in front of him. The air seemed heavy and was suffused with the mingled scents of sulfur and lust. He hardly noticed the click of Cordy's heels as she came running into the lobby.

"What's going…ewww!" the receptionist shrieked.

Angel froze mid-grind. But Spike seemed unperturbed. "Ah, Peaches…we've an audience."

The older vampire closed his eyes for a second. When they opened, the normally dark brown irises were bright yellow. "Out!" he roared.

Wes felt Cordy tugging at his hand, but he couldn't make his legs work. Instead, he was dragged along by Cordelia, the soles of his loafers making an ugly mark on the polished floor of the Hyperion's lobby.

Outside, he stood blinking in the sunlight both relieved and disappointed.

"My God," Cordy breathed. "I thought they were past all that now that Angel has a soul."

He wheeled on her. "You knew?"

"Unfortunately!" she rolled her eyes dramatically. "I peeked at Giles' journals once back in high school. Boy, did I regret that particular snoopfest."

"What did you find out?"

She looked at him aghast. "You want details?!"

"No!" He said vehemently. "I mean, it could be important to understanding how Spike's stay here will affect Angel. What if he brings Angelus out?"

"Not a chance."

"But the curse…" Wes stammered.

Cordy laughed. "Spike's hardly the one to bring Angel perfect happiness. Sure, they'll screw each other's brains out and do a lot of collateral damage to themselves and the hotel in the process. But Angel's soul will be intact when it's all said and done."

"Still, you'd better tell me what you know." Wes insisted.

She rolled her eyes. "Okay, but I'm keeping it PG-13. You'll have to call Giles if you want the X-rated version. And I expect some compensation for dredging up those sordid memories."

Wesley sighed. Cordelia's idea of compensation tended toward Italian footwear. "All right."

The receptionist smiled sweetly and took his arm as they walked away from the hotel. "If Giles' journal is right, what we saw back there is nothing compared to way back in merrye olde England."

Two hours and eight shoe stores later, Cordy was done with both her tale and Wesley's Mastercard. The Watcher wasn't sure what was a bigger shock: the story of Angelus and Spike's relationship or his new credit card balance. He sat silently as Cordy drove back to the hotel. She pulled up out front and as he got out, leaned across the seat to peck him on the cheek. "Thanks for the pumps, Wes." Her eyes sparkled. "And to show my sincere gratitude, I suggest that you don't bother going back in."

Wes looked puzzled. "You can't possibly mean they're still…" His voice trailed off. "Oh, my!"

Cordy shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not. But either way, are you really ready to face him given what you now know?" She gave him a meaningful look as she drove away.

She had an excellent point. Wes cast one long glance at the Hyperion and then walked to his SUV. As he keyed the door, he looked up at the hotel windows above. From the outside, all looked identical, but he knew that a row on one floor were lined with blackout curtains. And behind those heavy drapes, two vampires were engaged in all manner of unspeakable things.

Actually, the vampires were engaged in snuggling. Neither of them would have described it as such, but Spike's head lay in the crook between Angel's chin and shoulder. The older vampire's arm held his Childe close and their legs were tangled together beneath the sheets. It was a scene of deeply peaceful repose if one ignored the bloody scratches and bruises that marred marble-white skin. As usual Spike had taken the worse of it, but he wasn't complaining. A spine-shattering orgasm tended to help one overlook a few flesh wounds. Besides, Angel had already licked them clean to speed the already preternaturally swift healing. Only the two tiny fang pricks at his neck still stung --but it was a good hurt and at any rate, highly preferable to the pain he felt when he arrived in LA.

As if he could read minds, Angel shifted and stared into Spike's gentian blue eyes. "What are you doing here Spike?"

"Here?" The younger vampire smirked. "You said we couldn't do it in the lobby."

"Damn, Spike. You know what I mean." Angel growled.

The peroxided vampire shrugged. "Thought I'd pay you a visit."

Angel sat up, dumping Spike in the process. The blond's head hit the ornately carved headboard. He yelped indignantly and sat up, rubbing his head as he gave his Grandsire a dirty look. "Why'd you do that?"

 "Why are you here?" Angel countered. "You'd only come here if you wanted something."

"Yeah, I wanted something. Got it, too. Though I don't mind seconds." Spike leered and reached out for Angel's now flaccid cock.

The dark-haired vampire quickly shifted his hips away out of Spike's reach and then covered his naked loins with the sheet to hide the beginnings of an erection. It was futile he knew, from the smirking it was clear Spike had already seen.

"I know you aren't here for sex, Spike. Who are you running from?" Angel fixed his GrandChilde with a suspicious stare. To his surprise, Spike genuinely looked hurt. Angel closed his eyes, swore he wouldn't buy it, but when the first shimmering tear made its way down the blond's cheek, he was truly concerned. The fledgling William had been so easily brought to tears that Angelus had to regularly whip him for as much as a sniffle to break him of the habit. And old habits die hard. So these were no crocodile tears. If Spike was allowing Angel to see him this vulnerable, he must really be in bad straits.

The older vampire sighed and leaned back against the headboard. At that moment he wanted nothing more than a shower and a nap, but he wasn't heartless enough to walk away while Spike sniffled in his bed. A gypsy curse had seen to that.

"Spike, whatever it is that brought you here can't be that bad. What? Do you owe someone money…er, kittens again. I'll pay them off."

His GrandChilde shook his head.

"What then? You've pissed off some demons?"

Spike didn't reply.

Angel was losing patience and his next words rumbled with a hint of his demon. "The sooner you tell me the sooner, I can help you."

The younger vampire muttered something in such a low voice that even his Grandsire's preternatural hearing missed.

"What?"

"I said you can't help."

"How can you know that if you don't tell me what's wrong."

"'Cause you can't make her love me!" Spike yelled in an anguished voice.

Angel stared at his wild-eyed GrandChilde in pity. "You have to let go of Drusilla, Spike. She'll drive you as mad as she is and you still won't have her."

"Not Dru." Spike said simply.

"Um…Harmony?" Angel tried not to sound aghast.

The blond vampire flashed him a get-real look.

"Then, who?"

Spike remained silent. Too silent.

Angel frowned with sudden comprehension. "No. Not Buffy." He repeated it in a dangerously low voice. "Tell me you don't mean Buffy."

Well, Spike thought, I'm hardly going to confirm it now.

Unfortunately, he didn't have to. It showed on his face the minute, Angel murmured her name.

Spike moved a split second before his Grandsire's heavy fist crashed into the headboard. The space his head had just occupied was now a gaping hole. Varnished splinters rained down on the sheets. Spike sprang from the bed before Angel could decide to put any of the better-sized bits of wood through his chest.

Meanwhile, the older vampire was shaking with anger. "How dare you!"

"Think I'm beneath her, eh?" Spike spat back bitterly. "Don't worry. Buffy shares your fine opinion o'me. Even after I offered to stake Dru for her."

"What?!" Angel stared at his GrandChilde in disbelief. When Spike opened his mouth to explain, he gave him a warning stare. "No, don't bother. In fact, don't say anything at all."

Spike hung his head, feigned submission. In reality, he was looking for his clothes. Had his jeans come off in this room or downstairs? He couldn't remember clearly, but he had a sinking suspicion that he'd been bare-assed by the time Peaches threw him on the bed and bore into him. Balls! That meant he'd have to settle for a sheet if the poof grew violent enough that he had to make a run for it. Spike didn't care much for the other garments, but he hated to leave his duster and Doc Maartens behind.

Angel noticed the subtle flicker of Spike's eyes and made a sound of disgust. "Stop looking for your clothes. They aren't in here. Besides you won't need them when you leave here _in the Dustbuster_."

"Bloody well, then." Spike snarled. "I was daft to think I'd get any comfort from you, but I'll settle for you putting me out of my misery." He closed his eyes and stood arms flung outward as if Angel already had the stake in hand. It was a very dramatic posture. Not to mention one that displayed his washboard abs to their best advantage while putting him a crucial few steps closer to the door.

None of this escaped the older vampire. Angel started to make some cutting remark, then the ridiculousness of the entire situation sunk in. He closed his own eyes and ran his hands roughly through his already wild hair. Why was allowing himself to get so overwrought? Spike said Buffy didn't love him back. And even if she had –say due to some awful insanity spell—it was no business of his. He'd given up all say in who she loved or didn't when he left Sunnydale. Angel leaned over and exhaled slowly. And again.

Hearing the sighs, Spike decided a brief peek at his Grandsire was worth the risk spoiling the effect of his pose. Damn if the ponce wasn't brooding! He dropped his head in disgust and turned to leave. He was a step from the door when it hit him.

Spike walked back and sat down on the bed a judicious distance from Angel. "Does it help?"

The dark-haired vampire lifted his head. "Huh?"

"Y'know…" Spike pantomimed gazing despondently into the distance. "Does brooding help any? Kill the pain. Make you forget about her."

"No." Angel admitted.

"Didn't think it would." Spike replied. He started to make a patting search for cigarettes before he remembered he was naked and settled on gnawing at his thumbnail. The two vampires sat in silence for several minutes. Then Spike spat out several flakes of black polish and a ragged half moon of nail. "Why do you do it then?"

Angel scowled and brushed the disgusting nail fragment off the sheets, pointedly ignoring his GrandChilde.

Spike was undeterred. "Just seems a bloody waste of time, that's all."

"And whatever you do is so much more effective." Angel shot back.

An uncharacteristically reflective light entered Spike's eyes. "A fifth of Jack. Beating the shite out of demons. Come to think of it, it bloody well does." He grinned. "Even shagging your fat arse helps." The blond vampire jumped off the bed and walked out. He truly did feel better. Now if he could only find something to wear.

"Where are you going?" Angel demanded as Spike reentered the room wearing unbuttoned jeans and attempting to pull a partially shredded t-shirt over his head.

"To look for the rest of me clothes and then…" The rest of reply was muffled somewhat as Spike wrestled his white-blond head through the tee's neckhole.

Angel was losing patience "What did you say?"

There was a pause as the younger vampire looked down at the ruined fabric and shrugged. "I said, then I'm back to good old Sunnyhell."

Angel felt his hackles rising again. "Why?" he gritted out as calmly as he could.

Spike buttoned his jeans, then glanced over his shoulder to admire the fit. "Drinkin'. Fightin'. I figure I can do all that there just as well as here." The corner of Spike's mouth quirked. "As for shagging you…Well, you just sit there broodin' away and I'll know where to find you when I get the itch."

The older vampire tried to think of a retort. But none came to mind before he was distracted by a view of Spike's departing rear end. That sight unleashed a slew of sensual recollections from this afternoon. And the memory of what he hadn't felt. He rose from the bed.

"Hey, Spike, wait up!" After all, there were whiskey and demons in L.A. as well.


End file.
